


Die as Saints

by eamesish



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boarding School, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:58:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eamesish/pseuds/eamesish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things one expects out of life, things one takes as fact before really knowing the truth of it all. In John Blake's case, he assumes  Gotham Preparatory is just as squeaky-clean and posh and well-mannered as it looks on that first day he walks through its doors... but as he avoids his new roommate, seeks out shady characters for advice, and learns how to use information as currency, he realizes one very important thing: his assumption was very, very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I shouldn't have started writing this until I finished Dust, but I couldn't help it! Every pairing needs a good high school AU, and I realized I wanted to be the person to write it. With that said, there are some things you should know: there will be many cameos by characters not seen in the Nolan trilogy (mostly I wanted the Riddler, as he's my favorite villain, but then I just had so many ideas for other characters that one cameo turned into a million), but you shouldn't worry about that if you're unfamiliar with the comics or the Arkham Asylum/Arkham City video games, which is where I draw my non-Nolan Batman knowledge. The cameos will be just that: cameos, so it's more like you'll get a chuckle if you do recognize the name rather than be missing something if you don't. The Riddler does have a more established role than other characters, but even if you're not familiar with him you won't be missing anything, really.
> 
> The primary pairing here is Bane/Blake, as I am _obsessed_ with them at the moment, but you'll see a bit of Selina/Bruce and Selina/Jonathan in the background too. This is going to be a sprawling fic, with lots of characters and events and details, but I'm hoping I'll present it with clarity and conciseness that makes it enjoyable. As with basically any fic involving Bane, this ain't gonna be unicorns and rainbows and butterflies. There will be violence and sex and a whole lotta suffering within this fic, so don't say I didn't warn you!
> 
> I had to change some canon details to fit this AU, of course, and I screwed around with age gaps and such, so please bear with me! I also had to assign names to some previously unnamed characters, so don't balk at what names I choose, please. xD I try to be reasonable and draw from the canon when I can, but sometimes there's nothing to go on.
> 
> Anyway, I'll stop yammering on now. I have _no_ idea how long this will be, so I can't tell you when this'll be done, but hopefully you'll all enjoy going on this journey with me! I can already tell I'm going to love writing it.
> 
> In closing, special thanks to fadedhues over at ye olde tumblr for looking at this first part and inspiring me to write it in a jiffy. xD Enjoy!

“Goooooooooood morning everyone. The date is Monday, November 12th, 2012. You're here with your friendly neighborhood announcer Edward E. Nigma, reporting live from the Arkham building for your listening pleasure. Today I've got quite a few announcements, if you might lend me your ear...”

The voice on the intercom echoes through the hall as one John Blake makes his way toward the headmaster's office, intent on finding his room so he can finally get settled in. His grasp on his suitcase is white-knuckled as he walks, his patience wearing thin for the day and its trials. He'd just been in the car for four hours, so who could blame him for being grumpy about the whole thing?

“... remember that this week's free day has been extended to Saturday _and_ Sunday in light of our very own Gotham Bats' recent victory in the district championship. This does not, however, mean that you may stray outside the designated districts in the city should you choose to go out and celebrate. As always, any student caught outside the designated areas during or after school and on free days is subject to detention and possible referral. Additionally...”

John makes himself comfortable in an armchair as he waits to be called into Headmaster Garcia's office, his shoes squeaking against the lacquered wood floor. The floor is just like the rest of the place: spotlessly clean and ridiculously expensive. He feels out of place in his sneakers and old black t-shirt, too plain against the shine that everything in the building seems to wear.

“... and now, ladies and gentlemen, for the Riddle of the Day: 'I run but never walk, have a mouth but never talk, have a face but never weep, have a bed but never sleep. What am I?' As always, any and all answers must be submitted to the Riddler box in the common room by seven pm tonight.”

_Gotham Preparatory,_ he thinks somewhat bitterly, rolling his eyes. Really, he shouldn't be so sour about the whole thing considering that it's a bit of a miracle he's here in the first place. The plan had been conceived in part by his foster parents of the moment, who had disliked him severely, and in part by he himself, who disliked them in equal amounts. They couldn't afford the rates of the boarding school, but they  _could_ transport him and send him some money to cover extraneous expenses. His end of the bargain was to score a scholarship from the place, effectively paying the tuition. He did it, too: he wasn't the most pleasant to be around and he knew it, but he wasn't stupid. Though going to boarding school wouldn't be a dream come true, it was better than the alternatives. He'd take it over suffering with his foster parents or getting sent back to the orphanage any day.

“Until tomorrow, fellow Bats. Have a _great_ day.”

“Mr. Garcia will see you now,” the secretary says, cutting his thoughts off sharply. He looks up with a small grunt and picks up his bags, heading into the office. With any luck, the headmaster won't be an asshole.

He's not counting on it.

The man is clean looking, just like everything else, and very... political. He looks like the type to work an angle into everything he says, so when he speaks John is careful to listen well. The chair he sits down on is plush and expensive-feeling, but it might as well be made of wood for the rigidity in his back.

“Robin Blake, is it?”

“John,” he replies tightly. “I go by John.”

Mr. Garcia's eyebrows lower a little, but he says nothing on the matter.

“Right. Well, all your paperwork is present and signed, so you're good to go. Here's the key to your room. Your roommate is, ah, Benjamin Dorrance.” As Garcia says the name a look of concern crosses his face, but John tries not to think about it too much. He doesn't think he wants to know what the look means. “You have the day off today, so try to make use of it to get settled in and used to the layout of the school. You'll find another student waiting outside to show you around for the day.”

John stands up, shaking Garcia's outstretched hand.

“I hope you enjoy your time here, John. I really do.”

John smiles, but the expression is forced. “Me too.”

As he walks out into the lobby again, he's approached immediately by a brunette girl, a little bit shorter than he, in a crisp-looking a-line skirt and tight, pressed button-down.

“Robin Blake, I presume,” she says sharply, her smile more disquieting than comforting.

“I go by John, but yes,” he replies, frowning. “You are?”

She sticks out a well-manicured hand for a quick handshake. “Selina Kyle. Charmed, I'm sure.”

“Truly.”

“Mm. I'll be your guide for the day. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room...”

“Don't you have class?” he asks as she starts heading toward the door on their left, trying to keep up with her brisk walk with all his baggage. She's wearing heels about half the length of his leg and he finds it hard to believe she can walk so fast and balance so well in them, but she does it.

“Please.” She laughs. “I do favors for them, they do favors for me. I like doing this sort of thing, so I ensure I do it often.”

John feels like there's something he should say to that, but can't think of anything, so keeps quiet. He'd rather just get settled in. Selina seems like she wants to say something, too, but it's not until they're in the hall his dorm is in that she actually does, slowing down her pace a little so he doesn't have to try so hard to keep up.

“Look, John, I'm going to put it bluntly: whatever you saw in the brochures, whatever they told you over the phone, don't believe it.” She laughs. “Bureaucracy. Anyway, things around here, they're not gonna be what you're used to. There are a lot of things you have to know to survive in this place, and if you don't make friends fast you won't do so well.” She pauses, turning to him and prompting him to stop.

“You're rooming with Bane, so you have to learn fast.”

“Bane?”

“Don't call him Benjamin. He'll murder you—literally. Stay on his good side, John. He's dangerous, and I don't mean that he'll steal your lunch money. He doesn't have a roommate right now for a reason.”

_Out of the frying pan and into the fire,_ John thinks, recalling the last screaming match he had with his foster parents. Well, he's gone too far to turn back now, right?

“You seem alright, so I'll throw you a bone: go to the second floor of the Blackwater building, room 223—it's a re-purposed janitor's closet, basically, so it's easy to miss. Just keep your eye on the numbers. When you find it, knock three times and ask the for the Riddler.”

The Riddler... sounds familiar.

“Is that the kid from the announcements?”

“He gets grumpy if you call him Edward, so don't. If you can't bring yourself to call him Riddler, use Nigma.” He assumes that's a yes. “Once he lets you in, tell him you want information. He'll probably play some mind games with you, but just wait them out. Remember, information is power. If you can squeeze the right kind out of him, you'll be able to make it through the week. And really, the first week is the hardest.”

They're at his the door to his room now, and Selina's voice has grown very quiet.

“Good luck, John. Once you've seen the Riddler, come find me in the common room in this building for lunch. I'll show you who's who. And avoid Bane until then, if you can--believe me, when you see him, you'll know who it is. I'll teach you how to deal with him later so you might have a chance of surviving.”

John laughs shakily. “Do you always give such great pep talks?”

“Well, it's not every day Bane gets a new roommate. It's kind of a big deal. A lot of people are going to stare at you when you're walking around, you know. Just ignore it and find me. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

Without another word, she's gone, leaving John alone with his thoughts and the very imposing wooden door in front of him.

_Here goes nothing,_ he thinks, and turns the handle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so much support after just one chapter! Thanks, guys. I feel guilty for not updating Dust again, but I'm glad ya'll are happy with this one so far. xD Without further ado, here's chapter two!

The place is dark despite the morning sunlight John had been subjected to earlier, and as he steps into the room with his bags, he finds himself fumbling for a lightswitch. He finds it eventually and, distracted by the strap of his shoulder bag digging into his left shoulder, doesn’t take the time to look around before he sets his stuff down.

“Robin Blake,” a voice says, startling him into standing up straight. It belongs to a boy, probably a little older than he, sitting on the bed by the window, his posture sprawling like a king on a throne. He’s English, John notices, but that’s as far as he gets, because suddenly he knows exactly who he’s looking at.

_Avoid him if you can,_ he thinks wryly. He would have laughed had he not been so tense.

“John.”

“Excuse me?”

“I go by John.”

There’s a long moment where Bane doesn’t say anything, but then he parts his lips and John releases the breath he didn’t notice he was holding.

“Very well. If we’re discussing naming policies, I suppose it’s right of me to say I go by—”

“Bane. Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

He laughs.

“So you’ve been told about me.” He stands up, rolling his shoulders slowly—wow, he is muscular for a teenager—and cracking his neck. “Who was it then? Crane? Nigma?” As he says each name he walks toward John, each step languid and filled with a kind of power John’s never seen before.

“Ms. Kyle, perhaps?” Bane’s right beside him now, his breath tickling John’s ear as he barely breathes the name. The fact that he’s somewhat terrified should probably inspire him to speak, but he stays silent, resolute, grip iron on the strap of the shoulder bag he just set down.

After a tense moment, Bane withdraws, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Good boy. You’re smarter than you look, it seems.”

“Should I be offended?”

Bane looks surprised that he had the nerve to speak, but makes no move to do whatever it is he does that’s worse than stealing your lunch money.

“Hardly. You’re a scholarship student, so it would be silly of me to contest your intelligence anyway. Besides, it’s a good thing to look dumber than you are. Very… misleading. It will do favors for you in the long run.”

John has a feeling Bane is smarter than he looks, too. A  _lot_ smarter.

“You and I are alike, John,” Bane continues, stepping back, “in that neither of us belong here. You’re here because you got a scholarship, and I’m here because—well, let’s just say I’m not meant to be here either. We’re out of place, you and I, and though you may not see it yet, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb among the others. They already know who you are, all the other students. We all do. We’ve had time to judge you and pick you apart and decide to help you or shun you before you got even a  _glimpse_  of our faces. Most of the new students, the average, _ordinary_ ones, don’t make it, you know. They drop out in after a few weeks. But you, you have a golden opportunity: you’re different, you’re strange,  _you don’t belong here._ You’re not like the rest of them, and you can do something with that. One is only left to wonder if you actually will.”

Bane turns and picks up a bag that presumably carries his school books, but even with his back to John, John can hear his chuckle.

“Yes, John, we are quite alike,” he says as he turns again, his tone distant and surprisingly thoughtful, and perhaps bittersweet. “You don’t resent that statement yet, but you will. In due time, you will.”

Then he’s gone.

John experiences several trains of thought at once: first,  _who, exactly, is Bane?_ Second,  _what does he mean when he says I’m different?_ And third, and perhaps most importantly,  _why the_ fuck  _does everyone know everything about me already?_

As he thinks about these three burning questions, he surveys the dorm. It’s nice, actually, once he opens up the curtains Bane had drawn. The light filters through pleasantly, illuminating a carpet that doesn’t particularly look like anyone died on it and two ugly but plush-looking comforters on the bed. Bane’s side of the room isn’t tidy, but it isn’t messy either, just… lived in. There’s nothing out of the ordinary present, and he kind of wants to check the nightstand drawer beside his roommate’s bed to see if there’s a knife or a gun there, but he feels like Bane would somehow know and come back to murder him brutally. He’s  _different,_ apparently, so he should be able to at least survive his first day, right?

He lingers in the dorm, thinking, but finds the four walls of his new home offer him no answers, so after he’s put some of his clothes in the dresser he heads out the door, hoping he might find some answers with Edward Nigma— _Riddler,_ John reminds himself. He has a million questions and only the promise of answers, or maybe only the promise of fragments of answers, or maybe only the promise of a big fat pile of nothing, but whichever one it is can only really be determined if he goes and tries to do something about his present ignorance, so that’s just what he does.

The Blackwater building is about a five minute walk from where he was, just down a long concrete sidewalk framed by a lake on one side and a courtyard on the other. Though the exterior is molded with the same elegant material as the Arkham building, it looks more foreboding, more intimidating. It reminds him of a prison.

_Must be one of the instructional buildings, then,_ he jokes to himself, but he has a feeling he’s right.

He is. As he walks through the hall and finds his way toward the Riddler’s closet-office, he stops to peer into classrooms and survey their contents, finding the same well-manicured interiors that permeate the rest of the school’s grounds, the students sitting quietly in their seats as the instructors teach. Everything is neat and tidy, all lab equipment in order, all books in their proper places. It looks, well, tame.

The students are in their places. The teachers are teaching. The campus is clean. Some of the students, like Bane, Selina, and apparently this Riddler guy he now seeks out, seem to be skipping classes, but what school doesn’t have students like that?

Where is the abnormality? Where is the danger? Where is whatever it is that’s meant to scare him away?

_What am I missing here?_

The look in Selina’s eyes had told him she was very, very serious about what she said, and Bane’s words in their dorm room were nothing to laugh about. So what exactly is he meant to fear? This place, everything within it seems docile and sensible, yet its inhabitants are acting like it’s the most dangerous place on the planet. What, then, makes it dangerous?

He forces himself to stop thinking about it in favor of peering at the room numbers on the doors, trying not to miss the Riddler’s office like Selina said he might. Sure enough, there it is, the door the same wood as the others, completely ordinary. When he knocks on it, however, the seemingly normal plate with the door number on it moves aside to reveal a pair of eyes.

John stares into those eyes for a moment, something turning over his his stomach. The more he finds out about this place, the more he’s confused, so is this really a good idea?

_Selina told you to do this,_ he reminds himself, and he trusts her, if only a little bit. She is the first and only person so far who actually seems interested in helping him, so if he doesn’t take her advice, he has to be a bit stupid, doesn’t he?

So, licking his lips, he clears his throat and vocalizes the sentence before he can psych himself out:

“I’m looking for the Riddler.”


	3. Chapter 3

After a moment of shuffling, a thump, and a click, the door slowly creaks open. Though John was told that the Riddler's “office” was small, the darkness that fills it makes it seem infinitely large. The only light comes from a tiny lamp pooling over a dark green fedora and, below it, a wolfish grin.

“My my my, Robin Blake—'call me John', I know. Spare me the speech.”

John finds the fact that Nigma already knows that about him more terrifying than he probably should.

“Come, come, sit,” he continues, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk—how he manages to fit it in the closet, John doesn't know, but the whole setup looks surprisingly sophisticated and he doesn't feel cramped when he sits. Nigma angles his head a little, the pool of light illuminating his cheekbone, and finally takes off the fedora. His hair is rust-colored and slightly tousled from the hat, shining in the limited light, and though John can now see his full face, he still looks no less mysterious or mischievous than before. John can't see much of his outfit, but he does notice the small green question mark-shaped pin in the lapel of his uniform's shirt.

“How was your journey? Actually, forget I asked that. I don't actually care.”

Charming fellow, he is.

“The better question is, what will you do now that you're here?” Each of Nigma's words slips through his lips like molasses, slow and leisurely. His tone is authoritative and seems to fill the room, its cadence the way it was on the intercom, and John suspects he doesn't know how to turn that off.

“I was told to come to you for information,” John says simply. “What I do depends on the information I'm given.” He's surprised by the businesslike tone of his own voice, but Nigma is irritating him and he kind of just wants to get away, so he's really just trying to get the conversation over with.

“Hmmmmmm,” Nigma replies, propping his feet up on the desk. “Was it Selina who told you? Ah, she's always been too kind to me. Or perhaps it's just that extraordinary resourcefulness of hers showing through. Never could reject a good chance at getting information. If she has to use you to get it, she will.” He pauses, looking up through his eyelashes like John's not worth his full gaze. “She's using you, I hope you know that. Everyone will use you. I'll use you. I'm using you right now, actually, did you know that? It's very easy to do. You'll figure out how to do it eventually—for now, though, we're all going to milk you for everything you've got.”

Now John's just outright angry. Selina had warned about mind games, but he can't seem to keep them from affecting him. How does he know that what Nigma is saying isn't true? Selina probably is using him. Can he really be sure of anything?

_The more I learn, the less I know,_ he thinks, and he'd laugh were he not so annoyed.

“So are you going to tell me anything worth listening to or what?”

Nigma chuckles, the sound hollow and prompted, reminiscent of a radio newscaster's. “I already have.”

John just scowls, which prompts a sigh from Nigma.

“Fine, fine—but you do realize that information isn't free, don't you?”

He's got this sly grin on his face and his posture seems expectant, like he's waiting for John to hunker down and suck his cock. John is decidedly disconcerted by the idea.

“What do you want me to do?”

“It's a simple task, really, and probably less than you deserve. I want you to take this—” he removes an envelope from his desk “—and deliver it to a man in the 300 hall. Knock on the door of classroom 319 six times and when he answers, tell him that you've come to see a man about a bat. He'll let you in. After he reads the letter, he'll give you a time and a place. You go there, you get answers. Simple as that.”

John's brow furrows. It seems an easy task, too easy, and he suspects there's some ulterior motive behind it. He doesn't protest, though, only takes the envelope and heads for the door—because really, what else can he do?

“Oh, and John?”

He turns.

“Don't open the envelope. I'm sure listing the incentives against doing so is unnecessary. Just, you know, don't.”

He doesn't. He doubts he'd understand its contents, anyway, so he leaves it untouched, settling for examining the outside instead: _Joker,_ it says in large purple letters, smeared slightly with the haste in which they were written. Joker? What kind of name is that?

_Does anyone actually use their real name here?_ he thinks as he walks, shaking his head. He's found that thinking hasn't done him much in the way of illuminating anything today, though, so he shuts his mind up and continues along the path to the designated room, finding it without much difficulty.

“I'm here to see a man about a bat,” he says obediently after he knocks. The room used to be a chemistry class or something, it seems, but there's nobody in it. Nobody, that is, but one boy, his back facing John, his hair a stringy green and his body unhealthy looking in a way he can't quite describe.

Then he turns. 

John feels a “what the fuck” is in order, but finds his lips won't move. This guy, he's got a full facepaint on, and what looks like one long, deep scar runs from ear to ear, the puckered skin caked in red makeup. He can see why Nigma called him the Joker.

“This is from Riddler," he finally says, his voice shaky. The Joker takes the message languidly, like he's got all the time in the world, and runs his tongue over his teeth as he reads, his eyebrows shooting up at the very end of the thing.

“So it's true,” he says. “You're Bane's new roommate.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

The Joker stares at him for a moment, tilting his head to the side, then laughs raucously. His teeth are cracked and unhealthy looking, making John grimace.

“Look: we're all here for a reason. I don't know what yours is, but it's something big.” As he speaks his words tumble out faster, the lilt in his voice jumpy and erratic. “Bane's got plans for you, you know. He wouldn't have chosen you as his roommate otherwise. That boy, he's always got plans. He's crazier than I am and, well, I'm off my fucking rocker. My advice? Watch your back, because there're going to be people waiting to stick a knife in it. Myself included.”

John swallows once, hard. He doesn't know what to make of this information, so he makes nothing of it. For now it can fester in his mind. That's probably the only way to keep himself from going insane after everything he's heard today anyway.

“Riddler said that when I gave you the letter you'd give me a time and place.”

“ _Did_ he? He should know better than anyone that I'm not of a generous sort.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing a little at some unseen thing, then: “There's a place called Penguin's on the south side of Gotham. Head there at 11 pm on Saturday. You'll find what you're looking for, though when you do you'll wish you hadn't.”

John gives him a long look, the silence interrupted only by the quiet “thanks” that slips from his lips.

“Don't mention it. Really, don't. Don't tell anyone anything if you can help it.”

“Right.”

The Joker says nothing else, so John takes his leave while he can. He's more confused than ever (surprise surprise) and he's still supposed to be running around doing things and obtaining more information that he doesn't understand, but at least now he has a real goal, right? Make it to Saturday, find Penguin's. Hopefully with Selina guiding him for the rest of the day, he'll at least _start_ to get his bearings.

_I guess I'm going to have to trust her for now,_ he thinks, resigning himself at least to that. Whether it's a good idea or a bad one he doesn't know, but really, who else does he have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Riddler is usually depicted as wearing a bowler, not a fedora, but I won't tell if you won't ;* Anyway, I basically had an epiphany yesterday that's gonna make this fic 32094873272x better. Be ready, folks. Be ready.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for taking so long on this, ya'll. I promise I won't abandon it :')
> 
> Changed my username again, sorry! Trying to stick to one thing, but it's difficult. I'm going to tell you this is the last time, but whether or not you believe that is your choice.

Selina, as it turns out, proves easy to find.

She's waiting for him outside the lunchroom when he arrives. He'd killed some time unpacking in his new room so that he might brood a little on the strange things that had been said to him, deciding on a plan of action for the rest of the day. He's decided that he will trust Selina, if only a little, and only for as long as he needs to. He's also decided that he's going to stay at this school. Though it seems a bit crazy—and it is, really—he feels like it's a challenge now, to survive whatever it is that's going on, and he can't bring himself to back down. Maybe his mind will change on Saturday, but for now he's going to brave whatever Gotham Prep throws at him.

“You look happy,” Selina says when she sees him, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Do I?”

“Well, happy or annoyed. I can't tell which.”

“Hmm.”

“So here's the plan: we go in there, we walk around like we own the place, and we get out. I'll be giving you a running commentary on the people we see as we go, but we can't make it obvious, so you'll have to look like I'm talking about something mundane. People are going to stare at you—I hope you're ready for that.”

“Ready as I'll ever be.”

“Alright, if you say so,” she replies and, taking his arm in hers, she pushes open the door to the cafeteria.

The place is massive and high-class, just like the rest of the school, and everywhere he looks there are groups of students hovering, either eating their lunches or talking or, in the case of one particularly odd group, playing with fire.

“Like most schools, we like to separate ourselves out into social groups so we don't have to tolerate everyone at once. I trust you can see the distinctions.”

John can. It's like he can actually _see_ the social class of students go up in tiers: though everyone is rich here, they've found some other way of differentiating who to hate and why. Near the doors and garbage cans are the strange, unpopular kids; the large, panoramic windows on the far wall are surrounded by popular kids, their uniforms pressed and neat-looking; everywhere in between is space for the mid-level kids.

“So has everyone decided whether or not they can stand me yet?”

Selina laughs.

“As of yet, that remains a mystery. You should sit with me, though—it'll help your status. At least it'll make people less likely to want to shove your face in a locker.”

“And you'll benefit from having connections to the new guy.”

“You catch on quick. Information about you is currency around here, kid. Don't give any away unless you need something.”

_And right now what I need is information,_ he thinks wryly, following Selina when she heads for the lunch line.

“You hungry?” she asks, picking an apple from a basket of fruit.

He isn't particularly, but he figures he ought to eat something anyway, so he says yes. The lunch line is something special, truly. It's got all kinds of food and reminds him of just how rich everyone here really is, how out of his league he is. Luckily it's all covered in his tuition, although there's some stuff that costs extra. He opts for a basic lunch—pizza and potato wedges because eating anything else they've got would make him feel like an aristocrat. He gets a Coke, too, for good measure, and follows Selina with her single apple back to her table. It's near the windows, but not top-tier; there's still a group of students farther back, a well-dressed boy with a serious face among a group of quietly murmuring students. He looks distracted, like he's just seen a glimpse of something important.

One moment John is observing, the next he's intruding, because suddenly the boy's eyes have met his, gaze locked and steady, eyes contemplative. There's something burning beneath the facade he wears, John realizes instantly, and he can read it like a book because he's worn a similar lie himself.

_Anger,_ he thinks, and to Selina he says: “Who's that?”

“Bruce Wayne,” she replies, rolling the name around on her tongue, tasting it. “Tall, dark, handsome, and filthy rich. Stay away from him.”

John frowns and breaks Bruce's gaze, but says nothing. He's meant to be staying away from everyone, apparently, so he doesn't give it much thought.

“Holly Robinson,” a female voice says, shaking him from his thoughts. She's blonde and petite, a delicate hand outstretched to shake. “You must be—”

“Blake,” John interrupts, wanting to save himself the usual correction. “John Blake.” He takes her hand, shaking it lightly before turning to the other occupants of the table.

Edward Nigma is there, which surprises him a little. John had sort of expected him to hole up in his office or something all day, contriving new ways to piss other people off. Nigma just gives him a little nod.

“Jon,” Selina says, making John look at her, but he quickly realizes he's not being spoken to when she continues. _“Jonathan.”_

A boy, thin and somewhat nervous-looking, perks up suddenly, pursing his lips when he sees who's arrived.

“You brought the new kid over here?” he asks softly, though the irritation in his voice is evident. “Jonathan Crane. Nice to meet you.” He doesn't offer his hand.

“John Blake. Blake's fine, though.” It's best to avoid throwing everything off balance, right?

“Pamela Isley,” Selina supplies for a red-headed girl at the end of the table, currently laughing at the joke of some passerby. “She'll come around and apologize to you later.”

“Whatever,” John says helpfully, sitting down in the seat Selina indicates is for him. It's facing the cafeteria, luckily, so he can see everyone and everything, all the goings-on of this new, mysterious school he's supposed to be afraid of.

That's when he feels it.

It settles on him like a fine layer of dust. He can feel people gazing at him from all sides, feel the curiosity buzzing through the air; they're not obvious about it, but he knows then that he's being talked about. It feels surreal, being the center of attention like that. He has a feeling he'll have to get used to it soon.

“I told you,” Selina says, knowing he's finally realized what's going on around him.

“You did,” John croaks back, suddenly deciding that he's hungry and focusing all his attention on his food. He doesn't look up again until he's realized that a hush has fallen over the cafeteria, unusual for a group of teenagers, so he figures it must be something he shouldn't miss.

He doesn't see what the big deal is until his eyes alight on the door of the cafeteria, opened wide to reveal—

Bane.

John feels his heart leap in his throat, remembering their encounter from earlier. The boy is just as mysterious now, his chin held high and his gait strong and confident, flanked by two men who look equally as cocky.

“Bane's here,” Selina says matter-of-factly, sounding unaffected, unlike the rest of the cafeteria.

“Barsad's come back from the hospital, then,” Jonathan says. “Guess he wasn't as torn up as they were saying.”

“You should have seen the other guy. Clothes torn up, eye bloodshot... they think his arm was broken, too—oh!” This all comes from Pamela, who has suddenly realized that John exists. “When did you get here?”

Selina quickly straightens her out, which leads to a lot of apologizing. John's not fussed, though, because his eyes are still trained on Bane as he walks back to the empty table in the far corner, where the overhead light is out. He suspects that's on purpose.

“Good luck,” Selina murmurs quietly as Bane sits down and the cafeteria resumes breathing. “You're going to need it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So... I'm back? Kind of. Somebody commented on this yesterday all "it's a shame this hasn't been updated in two years!" and I was like TWO YEARS??? and then I realized that, indeed, the last update on this was in 2012, which is way too long ago. Anyway, I've got a lot going on right now, but I'm going to see if I can't finish this story, at least. Funny--it's still as fresh in my mind as it was when I thought it up. I can't promise that I'll update with any regularity, so please don't get all super excited, but I'll try my best. :')

_Penguin's at eleven. Penguin's at eleven._

The phrase is so ingrained in his mind that he can hardly stop thinking about it. When Selina goes to speak to him before his first real class he almost says it to her, barely catching the words as they spill from his lips. He just can't _help_ it; his curiosity is overwhelming, all-consuming, and by the time Friday arrives his classes are a blur and all he can think about is what the next day holds.

The classes themselves aren't bad. Most of them are accelerated, so he doesn't feel like he's being talked down to, although the teachers are, for the most part, overly strict for no particular reason. There are a few he likes, but many of them—especially when combined with his increasing ennui—make him grit his teeth, and he soon envies the way Selina can constantly get out of class on some business or other.

Encounters with Bane are much more interesting. Most of the time Bane isn't around, even after lights out. John usually ends up having the room to himself, the other bed empty morning and night, but occasionally Bane will show up and he ends up praying that he'll suddenly develop powers of invisibility so Bane won't talk to him again. Sure, he's not proud of his cowardice, but he'd rather be a coward than talked to ominously like the first time they met.

They end up talking only once. It's Friday, the very same Friday that's driving him crazy, and John is working on a paper that had been assigned earlier that week (because yes, his teachers really are dickish enough to assign a paper already). He's trying to write and the words are coming out jumbled, and he has to stop himself from writing _Penguin's at eleven_ about fifteen times, which really isn't helping with the whole writing an essay thing.

Bane's appearance doesn't really help either.

He comes in suddenly—but it's not his arrival that's sudden, more the way he instantly fills the room. John suspects that he couldn't sneak into a place if he tried. Their eyes meet for a moment, just a moment, and then John is typing again, something,  _ anything  _ to distract himself from the hulk of a roommate that is now undressing about three feet from his face. Though John tries not to look, he notices that Bane's back is in bad shape, really ripped up, marred with old scars and new. Blood flakes off of him as he rips off his shirt, making John grimace.

He wonders whose blood it is, but decides that caring is probably a bad idea.

“Are you a partisan man, John Blake?” Bane asks unexpectedly. His back is still turned, his voice slightly muffled. John's name sounds formal coming from his lips.

_ What is that supposed to mean? _

“Politically? Or—” He pauses when Bane speaks again.

“In life. Are you prone to taking sides?”

John's eyebrows furrow. Why would that interest his roommate? His leanings, political or otherwise, seem hardly like something Bane would care about.

“Not—really,” he finally says, not wanting to enrage his roommate with possibly contrary views. It's best to keep neutral to avoid offense. Besides, it's the truth, mostly. He likes to weigh both sides of a conflict or argument equally before picking a stance, if any. Most of the time he can see merits to both positions, so why limit himself to only one opinion? It seems nonsensical to him.

Bane laughs. He's facing John now, shirt in hand, the muscles in his chest rippling like they have something to prove.

“Such a shame,” he says, his cadence slow and luxurious, like each word is a sweet to be savored. “You seem like you'd be an interesting man to debate with.”

John is utterly perplexed now. What is Bane  _ talking  _ about? Has his roommate been watching him or something?

The more questions he asks, the less he seems to understand, so he answers Bane with a simple and hardly apologetic “Sorry” before returning his attention to his essay.

…

John doesn't remember falling asleep, but he figures he must have because the next thing he knows, he's waking up. His neck is aching from the awkward position he'd slept in, and his laptop is on the pillow where his head ought to be.

As the rest of his consciousness gradually returns to him, he sits up. His eyes immediately flick to Bane's bed, which is empty, and then to the clock, which reads  _ 04:00  _ in harsh red letters. What does Bane even do this time of night? Does he ever  _ sleep? _

_ Maybe he's got a girlfriend,  _ he thinks, but the notion is laughable. The only girl who seems to want to be within fifty feet of him is Talia al Ghul, the daughter of one of the school's wealthy benefactors. There doesn't seem to be anything romantic going on there; everything about them screams platonic, from the careful distance they maintain to the air of superiority she constantly exudes from her eyes. No, he doubts that's it.

What Bane does is hardly his business, anyway. Since he's decided to trust Selina, at least for now, he takes stock in her words to leave Bane be. That, at least, seems to be sound advice.

He can't help but think about what that weird boy—the Joker—had said about him, how Bane has  _ plans  _ for him. But what kind of plans? A presidential debate? That's what it sounded like to him earlier, from what he gathered. Hey, maybe Bane has a secret passion for politics. John can't judge that.

Shaking his head, he rubs his eyes and pulls his laptop back onto his legs.

_ This school is fucking weird,  _ he thinks as he powers up his computer. He's still got an essay to write.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shortie just to get back into it! I already have chapter six planned, so hopefully that'll be out soon.
> 
> Please forgive any changes in writing style between 2012 and now. I've been RPing a lot (I can't seem to RP and fic at the same time ;__;) and that's pretty much always in past tense, whereas my fic is in present, so if I slip, sorry about that. I'm looking out for it but I might slip every once in a while.


End file.
